


Milo Asher in a Thousand Words

by mechanicalreproductions



Series: Random Word Generator [2]
Category: Tribe Twelve
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Character Study, Child Abuse, Depression, Mental Instability, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2020-02-21 16:53:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18706429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mechanicalreproductions/pseuds/mechanicalreproductions
Summary: The nature of the disease that was passed down in his family through generations, was much more sinister than Milo knew- but he always knew it was there.





	Milo Asher in a Thousand Words

**PAUSE**

It felt like the three of them being in the same place at once unlocked the cobweb-ridden door guarding Milo’s happiness. He had the passing thought that he wished that he could pause this moment- Noah choking on smoke from a cigarette he was passing between himself and Milo, while laughing at a joke Kevin told them. The buzz in Milo’s head from the alcohol felt less lonely, the almost-fresh lacerations on his wrists felt less ugly, and the weight on his back felt less heavy. The golden sunset streamed over them, as did the unfortunately rare feeling of contentment.

 

**TRASHY**

“Trashy” was a word that Milo learned very early on in his childhood. It was whispered to describe his mother, most often, but also his clothes, his house, and his personal habits. He hated the word, because he knew how true it was to his life. As a pot-smoking, greasy, white-trash teenager, he was aware enough of his clichés. He tried to suppress jealousy when he discovered how nice his younger cousins’ homes were compared to his- or how normal their parents were compared to his undeniably whorish mother. He wondered where exactly their corner of the family went wrong.

  
**ADOPTION**

Doctor Corenthal would often tell stories about his children after their sessions, while Milo waited for his mother to come pick him up. They were adopted, though Milo wouldn't learn the circumstances of said adoption until much later. Milo could hear the admiration for those poor, dead children dripping from his voice, and wondered if his own mother would speak of him the same way if he died. Of course, he and Mary had good times. No matter how awful a parent was, they couldn't be cruel constantly. So, he supposed she must love him- but maybe not this much.

  
**DEATH**

Milo always thought death would come as a sweet release. He couldn’t have possibly been more wrong. The stabbing ache in his gut was more painful than the blades he used to paint his wrists and thighs could ever be. Every passing second was pure agony, spent writhing on the ground and frantically wondering if he made the right choice after all. The panic slipped away as his vision blurred, and he began to either vomit or foam at the mouth- he couldn't tell which. What was to come after his death was anything but the eternal rest he craved.

 

**OBEY**

After Milo passed into the Collective, he was hardly the same person anymore- he was hardly a person at all. Even if he still held the desire to self-destruct, it could barely be felt. It took tremendous willpower to think anything other than "obey" for more than a few moments. He had an ever-present sense of dread in the back of his mind but it was more like a dull ringing than a real emotion. He knew that he wanted to help Noah, but he couldn't. It was as if he were mentally trapped inside invisible boundaries. Obey. Obey. Obey.  


**GASH**

He knew he really fucked up this time. The gash down his forearm was gruesome- split open into an almond shape and absolutely pouring blood. He didn't know if that blood loss was causing him to feel dizzy, or if it was the panic. He hurriedly dug through his bedside drawers and pulled out a rag- kept there for this purpose- and pressed it to his wound. He was trembling too hard to keep it in one place. He even considered calling his mom. He didn't want to go back to the hospital, but he really didn't want to die.   


**DISEASE**

The nature of the disease that was passed down in his family through generations, was much more sinister than Milo knew- but he always knew it was there. His grandfather's mental state was an enigma, but there was no doubting something got knocked loose. His mother drank all day, and slept with just about anyone who would take her, all while treating her only son like complete garbage. His closest cousin, Noah, suffered in school do to debilitating anxiety and even shared some of Milo's own issues. He couldn't help but feel guilty, like he might have infected Noah somehow.   


**LAMP**

As he grew, Milo found himself getting into more altercations with his mother. He stood about six inches taller than her, and since he realized that fact he decided he wasn't going to accept her verbal abuse any longer. During a particularly heated screaming match, Milo flung his desk lamp at her, crashing through the drywall dangerously close to her head. Mary was a loud, mean woman- but the look of fear in her eyes was genuine and pitiful. Milo stormed outside to smoke, and reflect on how many men in his life had treated his mother the same way.  


**INSECT**

Once Milo started recalling the times he was in the presence of the well-dressed eldritch being, he started gaining back the memories of what he felt during those encounters. If was as if his body and brain couldn't agree on a reaction. Physically, no signs of fear were present- he wasn't sweating, shaking, and his heart was calm and steady. Mentally, he had never been more afraid of anything in his entire life. Standing below the thing, he felt like an insect. He knew with one quick choice to, it could kill him. He didn't know why it never did.   


**PRIVATE**

Milo highly valued his time alone- which conveniently happened to be most of the time. It seemed the older he got the more uncomfortable he became in social situations, and in turn, the more of his days he spent in private. When he was alone, he didn't have to explain himself to anyone. He could sleep all day, binge drink, and indulge in any other disgusting behaviors he favored. He knew that once he- by some miracle- graduated high school, he had no reason to leave his bedroom. He dropped out of therapy. He really didn't want to heal anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this, check out my one for Noah! Comments are greatly appreciated.


End file.
